


Sinu A’manore

by Damalia (Achrya)



Series: A Paladin, a Demon Hunter, and a Priest walk into a inn... [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - World of Warcraft Fusion, Badass Armin Arlert, Blood, Doesn't Happen, Languages, M/M, Magic, Pre-Relationship, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Unintentional flirting, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Damalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco is a young paladin finally striking it out on his own with Armin, a priest, at his side. Everything is going well until they're ambushed by bandits... </p><p>(No previous knowledge of World of Warcraft is needed.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinu A’manore

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Just an odd little thing that had been sitting, finished, on my computer for about three months. It mighhhht be slightly (strongly. ...totally.) based in the World of Warcraft mythos, in which Marco is a newbie human paladin and Jean is a demon hunter. And an elf. And pink. I don’t think you need to know the lore for this, as Marco is very handy with explaining things.
> 
> Marco was almost a priest because him alternating between holy magic and shadow/void magic that let's him warp brains sounded fun but I think paladin fits better. And that Armin is very much a warcraft style priest.
> 
> Warnings: Magic, sexual assault threats, violence, and fake video games languages. Title is ‘Well met’ in Thalassian (The Elvish dialect Jean uses.)

 

Marco figured that, in the grand scheme of things, maybe getting ambushed by a bunch of bandits was mostly his fault. It had been his idea to strike out from Elwynn Forest so close to sundown, his idea to not stop for the night at the guard tower right on the Westfall border and, ultimately, him who’d lead them down a road that took them through what had looked to be an abandoned tent town during the night.

He’d heard that Westfall wasn’t doing well, that a lot of the kingdom’s homeless and poor has settled in the area, pushing out the military and law enforcement while rejecting the royal family. A lot of things had gone in the human kingdom in the past few years, the least of which had been a literally shifting of the landscape and mass starvation because of burnt crops because of a very large, very angry dragon, and a lot of people were suffering and angry. It was understandable that some of those people would band together and try to start new lives and wouldn’t want the monarchy or military involved since so little aid had been rendered in their time of need.

But, even knowing all that, he hadn’t thought he and Armin would be in any danger. While he supported the king and would, no doubt, one day ride with the rest of his order into battle to confront the enemies of the Alliance and Humanity (especially if all the rumors about demons were true) he wasn’t, at the moment, part of any of that. And Armin wasn’t even a human at all. They were just adventurers, for lack of a better term, both recently done from their formal training and setting out to get more ‘practical’ experience before officially joining the Paladin Order.

That was how it had been explained to Marco at least when he’d been given a horse, a pouch full of silver, and informed that the Sheriff in Elwynn Forest could use some help with kobolds who’d infested the mines.

That was where he’d stumbled across Armin, and by stumbled he meant the small Draenei had literally come running down one of the mine tunnels with a hoard of furious kobolds screaming about candles at his heels and collided with him. They’d dispatched the creatures together and decided that, at least for now, traveling together might not be a bad idea.

Marco had seen an open call for help in Westfall: something or someone stopping any of the kingdom’s miners from getting into the Westfall mines and the reward was considerable. (Not that it was gold he was after, a chance to help people and start to undo all that had gone wrong was what had compelled him to join the Paladin order and was his main goal, but food and hay weren’t free.) It had seemed like a good idea, he figured it was probably more kobolds, and Armin had agreed.

He was, no doubt, regretting that decision.

They’d been about half way through the shack town when the attack came. They were riding, both silent as they solemnly took in the hastily constructed ‘buildings’ lining both sides of the road. It was dark and near impossible to see more than a few feet in either direction, the only source of light they had coming from the ball of golden light Armin had conjured. It made the ghost town seem that much more eerie, as if they were riding through a silent graveyard instead of a collection of ramshackle buildings, many of which consisted of what looked like scrap wood and leather tarps lashed together with rope or, in a few rare cases, actual nails. The tents were worse, horse blankets and more leather tarps, posted up with sticks and string; Marco couldn’t imagine they did much to keep out the harsh rains Westfall was known for or the wildlife. There were fire pits scattered around, some still had pots hanging over the, clothing line stretched between the shacks, left behind clothing,children’s toys, and other items.

Marco hadn’t grown up with much money, one of six kids on a small farm near a logging camp, but he’d had a home at least and his parents and older brother had always been able to find work. Most people in Westfall didn’t have that luxury anymore and, while he’d known that before he’d decided to come here, it was different seeing it. It felt wrong that places like this could exist in their kingdom.

He frowned, gripping the reins tighter, and reminded himself that this was why he had left home to be trained as a paladin and why he was in Westfall at all. He was going to use the Light to protect others and stop the sort of things that had lead to all of this from happening again.

Armin was silent, the soft blue glow of his eyes gave away nothing but his tight frown and silence were enough to let Marco know he too was disturbed. Even the air felt strange, dark and heavy, like it had a physical presence and and shadows cast by the orb of light seemed to be moving around, stalking them.

Wait.

Had that shadow actually moved?

He twisted around in his saddle, trying to get a better look and that was the point that the shadows burst to life and  poured from the shacks and tents he’d thought abandoned.

Marco liked to think that, after training since he was ten, that he was fairly competent with not just his weapons and combat in general but with wielding the light as well. He knew Armin was, had seen him use the Light to craft shields of holy power as well as attack when they’d taken care of the kobolds. But, even with that in mind, suddenly being swarmed by two dozen armed humans just weren’t the best odds.

Dragged from their horses and forced to fight they were overwhelmed quicker than he would have liked to admit to. Maybe if they hadn’t been separated right away, if he’d been able to wade through the bandits to get to his companion, to put himself between the unusually small Draenei and their attackers, maybe if Armin had been able to use his chants and hand motions to mend wounds and shield like in the mines-

But that wasn’t what happened.

What happened was Marco got yanked to one side, Armin to the other. Marco was cracked in the temple with the hilt of someone’s hatchet right off the bat and, even as he pushed that person away he was woozy and disoriented. His grip on his maul was weak, his attacks weaker, he lost his shield (the battered thing he’d had throughout most of his training), had blood dripping into his eyes, and he couldn’t quite concentrate enough to summon the Light to fortify himself. His strength waned, leaching from him faster with each wound he took.

He could hear Armin somewhere to the side, saw flashes of light going off like bombs in the darkness. He could only hope his companion was faring better than he was, unable to see him with his vision obscured and the world spinning like it was, because he was fairly certain he was going to be killed. Another blow to the head from behind and he was falling forward.

His knees hit the ground hard, vision going black and copper flooding his mouth. His hand was numb, his weapon clattering into the dust from fingers that refused to tighten. He was shoved forward and just managed to keep himself from a faceful of dirt with the hand he could still feel. Something cool and edged touched the back of his neck, he breathed in sharply, cool sweat breaking out over his skin.

“No more magic!” A voice commanded. “I would hate to behead a holy man.”

There was a moment of silence and then the sound of shuffling feet and something hitting the ground near him. He blinked a few times, tried to clear his vision, and found himself looking up at Armin, on his knees and forced to bend until his face was nearly in the dirt with a particularly large man kneeling over him him. The man had one hand over Armin’s mouth and the other pinning the Draenei's hands against his back; pupilless blue eyes had lost their blankness and were bright with barely contained fury.

They were surrounded, in the center of a loose circle of people, some holding torches high to cast flickering light over everything. He could see the ones behind Armin, or most of their bodies considering he didn’t dare raise his head, and it seemed to be all men with tanned skin wearing simple homespun clothing and holding basic weaponry.

“This is the first time I’ve seen one of you demon bitches face to face.” The voice who’d ordered the stop pierced the air. A man stepped between them and Marco (very carefully) tilted his head so he could see him. Tall, large shoulders, wide chest, face mostly obscured by a red bandana, unevenly shaven head, and pale green eyes.

Armin made a muffled noise of offense at, Marco assumed, being called a ‘demon bitch’. Dreanei did share certain similarities with some types of demons and Armin was no exception. It was less related to his pale blue skin, glowing eyes, pointed ears, and golden hair than it was the horns curving out of his skull just above his ears, the cloven hooves, and the long thin tail. But, in spite of those commonalities, Armin’s people were more opposed to demons and darkness than any else, true children of the light.

To be called a demon was probably the most severe insult one could pay to a Draenei, especially one of the Holy Priestess Order like Armin was.

The man, clearly the leader, smiled. The sword in his hand, wickedly sharp and curved in a style that looked more Elven than Human, was raised up and pressed to the side of Armin’s throat.

“I hear you’re supposed to be a holy people, that you worship the Light like we humans do. Go around calling yourselves priests and paladins, but you look like those demon whores the warlocks keep to me.” He smiled and a twitch of his hand had a thin line of red seeping around the edge of his blade. Marco jerked forward, uncaring about the sword against his own neck but was swiftly pushed back into place by a meaty hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t touch him!” His words were slurred, lacked any real force,

Green eyes flicked over to him and the man clucked like a disappointed parent. “Now, we’re all Light fearing people here and we don’t want to harm a holy man.” Marco found himself oddly skeptical about that since he was bleeding from the head and all. “But you’re riding through Defias territory and that means you’ve gotta pay the toll.”

“Fine.” He spat, then took a breath to steady himself when the world went dark for a moment. He needed to be calm, in control, to think clearly, to...not be sick all over the place or pass the hell out. “There’s some silver in my pouch. Take it and let us go.”

The man jerked his head and someone stepped forward, blocked Marco’s view for a moment, and yanked the coin pouch from his belt. When he was able to see the man again he was smiling broadly but his sword was still against Armin’s throat.

“Fantastic. We’ll be happy to let _you_ go, Mikey there will walk you on down the road easy as you please, but I think your little demon bitch will stay with us.” He crouched down and pressed a hand the top of Armin’s head. “Can’t just let him wander off, wouldn’t be right, and I’m sure we can find a use for him.”

Looking at the tilt of the man’s lips and the way he was almost petting Armin’s hair made a heavy feeling of dread settle in Marco’s already churning stomach. He shook his head, tried to stand again but the hand on his shoulder gripped him tight, pressure increasing until he was sure he could feel his bones shifting and tears sprang to his eyes.

Their leader seemed amused and his next words were dripping with mockery. “We’ll take good care of your friend. I’m sure it’s nothing you haven’t been doing yourself.”

Someone just outside of the light laughed. “Too bad we’ll have to keep his mouth shut. Takes away half the fun.”

His stomach roiled and bitter acid rose up in the back of his throat at what was being suggested. There was also, under the dizzy nausea, a slightly hysterical need to point out that what they were suggesting was most certainly not something Light fearing individuals engaged in.

“Too right.” The man agreed then, with a thoughtful look, moved his blade from Armin’s neck to his cheek. “Or perhaps we can just cut his tongue out to make sure he can’t cast any of those spells he was tossing around. Did a real number on my guys but I guess that should be expected from his kind.”

Red was climbing up Armin’s face, starting at his neck and racing up over his cheekbones to his ears, and tears were leaking out the corner of his eyes. Marco looked away, felt guilty while doing so, and glared up at the man. He could feel the Light, hot and angry, in his chest and tingling his fingers but couldn’t grasp it to direct it or use it properly. It was just there, boiling and aimless like when he’d been young and untrained. His head was pounding and felt so heavy; he thought he might have been on the verge of passing out but told himself his couldn’t. Even if they really intended to let him go he couldn’t just faint and leave Armin alone.

Light what kind of paladin was he?

He had to do something. Had to-

The man holding him jerked as if he’d been struck and let out a gurgling noise. The hand on his shoulder abruptly released as something heavy and wet hit his other shoulder then rolled to the side; the man crumpled behind him. In the space between him and the leader of the bandits was a cloaked figure. Marco couldn’t see much because of the cloak, a long black thing that brushed the ground, but what he could see was a pinkish-brown hand holding a warglaive with blood smearing it’s blade.

The leader of the bandit’s was staring, mouth agape, but not that cloaked figure. Instead he was staring at a point to the side of Marco; he glanced and was not as surprised as he should have been to see a severed head, tipped so it’s cheek was in the dirt and long matted hair covered most of it’s features, next to him.

Marco reached for his weapon, the old battered warhammer he’d been carrying for years, and tried to force himself to stand. The world slid, his stomach heaved, but he didn’t fall. Hands caught him, held him up.

He felt terrible because he was absolutely going to puke on whoever this was.

“You- A Blood Elf!” Through the curtain of hair that had fallen into his face when he’d almost fallen he could see the bandit leader’s face was splotchy red and twisted in a mask of apoplectic rage. Marco’s brain registered ‘Blood Elf’ and then rejected it; there were no Blood Elves in Westfall. No members of the Horde would dare come this close to the capital. “You fuckinnhg.”

A shadow, long, thin, and undulating, punched through the man’s chest. It didn’t appear to actually do any harm, passing through without any visible opening, but the man was pale as a sheet and staring down at himself in horror.

Marco stared too; in spite of how warm it was he was suddenly very cold. It took a second for him to be able to see anything else and then his attention was on Armin, eyes widening in shock. His companion was up, standing with his arms at his side and his palms upturned. His eyes were pitch black and a wind that didn’t exist was ruffling his hair. Purple shadow was falling from his fingertips like mist and was pooled around his, a mass of shaking twisting things that seemed to almost be alive and creeping over the ground like vines.

All around them the bandits were rooted, pierced through their chests by the writhing tendrils, all looking fear stricken. One of the tendrils was headed for them, moving over the ground with surprising speed.

“protection.” His fingers burned and his knees threatened to give out completely as he forced the words and the magic into being. It was a desperate push that he wasn’t sure was going to work at all, was half sure wouldn’t because he knew he was fading fast. There was a bell like ringing in his ears and his knees gave out but he could feel the blessing, a wavering weak thing, It wasn’t on him, he was hoping that he didn’t need to protect himself, but the warmth of it touched his skin and forced away some of the clammy chill that had settled in.

“Scream.” It came from Armin’s lips but it wasn’t his voice, or perhaps it was somewhere in there among the sound of many voices overlapping, a toneless sound that made chilled Marco to the marrow of his bones.

They screamed, Light did they scream.

The bandits shrieked and wailed, voices raised in clutching at their skulls and tearing at their hair and skin as blood poured from their eyes and ears. Some of them hit the ground and twisted around in the dirt while others stayed where they were, trembling violently as blood tinged foam formed on their lips.

It cut off all at once, nearly two dozen voices silenced so abruptly that the quiet seemed louder than the pained screams. They all collapsed, faces frozen in ugly death masks of wide eyed terror. The torches fell with them, throwing ghastly shadows over their now eternal grimaces and it was, in a way, worse than when they’d been screaming.

Armin was statue still, staring straight ahead, then his eyes rolled back and he crumpled into a heap on the ground. Marco watched him, wanted to move to get closer and make sure he was still breathing and hadn’t...well he didn’t know what, really, but whatever had just happened wasn’t normal. But his body felt like it was made of stone and his ears were ringing and he was just so tired. He could barely see straight.

“Your friend,” The words were said haltingly and in thickly accented Common. “Is strange.”

Marco tried to look up and somehow ended up looking at the hands on him. Pinkish-brown, a color that only existed on one race.

“You’re a blood elf.” He said dumbly, unable to grasp onto anything else. The world was going dark and it was hard to think and he knew he needed to fight against it, couldn’t pass out while an enemy was there, holding him up for some strange reason, leaving him and Armin defenseless.

But he was so tired and it was so warm and maybe just

\---

He woke up with a gasp and sat up, head whipping around. He regretted it right away, fell back with a groan while gripping his head. His vision was swimming so he shut his eyes tight against the feeling of the whole world rocking under his feet. He could still feel every blow he’d taken in the fight; even his teeth were aching.

“Drink.” Something cool was pushed against his lips. He turned his head away but it followed him. “Drink. Healing potion.”

He cracked open an eye and realized with a start he was looking at the elf who’d helped. And that the elf had a heavy blindfold, amber colored fabric edged with green along the top, tight over his eyes. He looked further down, realized the cloak was gone and that the elf was bare on top. Glowing green tattoos were plainly on display: the marks swept over his shoulders and down over his pectorals and abs-that Marco might have looked at for a second longer than was strictly necessary but he had a head injury so it was probably fine- as well as his biceps.

Marco had never seen a demon hunter in person, but then very few people had. He knew about demon hunters though probably no more than the average person. Elves from both factions who’d decided to fight demons by taking on demon attributes and power, who cut out their own eyes to pour foul fel magicks in their place and tattooed their bodies with dark runes using ink made from fel tainted plants. Their leader had gone mad some years before and, after he’d been killed, all of the hunters had been rounded up, locked away, and put to sleep so they couldn’t possibly escape.

Rumor had it that with demons supposedly showing up in large numbers along the south and supposedly amassing an army out in the southern islands that the demon hunters had been woken up to fight against them.

But that was a rumor that cropped up any time there was unusual and unexplained  demon activity. He’d been hearing about how the Demon Legions were coming and the hunters were being awoken since he was a child.

His eyes moved to the warglaives sheathed on the man’s back.

Clearly not just rumors this time, or this elf had somehow escaped being arrested.

A look back to the elf’s face found that he had tilted his head to the side in silent question. His hair was a dark ash blond and shaved on the sides, with the top gathered into a low top-knot but some had escaped to brush over his long angular face and shoulders.

“Problem paladin?”

“You’re blind.” And wow, that was...dumb but probably better than the next thing that popped into his mind ‘Aren’t you supposed to be in a magical sleep somewhere because you’re leader went nuts’ or the ‘You know this is Alliance territory right? Are you lost’ that followed it.

Lips quirked up. “Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”

It was probably the most absurd response possible and, in spite of the situation, Marco laughed. It was slightly bewildered and hysterical instead of genuinely amused and it hurt like hell but he laughed anyway. He had to stop after a moment, turned it into a pained groan and pressed a hand to his head again. The elf frowned then danged a glass vile of deep red liquid in front of him.

“Drink.”

Marco pushed himself up slowly and took the offered vial, eyeing it warily. “Is it poisoned?”

And maybe that was dumb too because this guy had jumped in to behead a bandit and then instead of killing him when he’d passed out had...moved him to a camp. He looked around, slower this time, to see that he was lying on a bedroll that wasn’t his own a few paces away from a small fire. Armin was close by on a blanket with what looked like the elf’s cloak over him (and there were, blessedly, no shadow tentacles in sight). A little further away, tied to a tree, was...his horse. And Armin’s too, both lazily nibbling at grass like they hadn’t taken off through the fields when they’d been ambushed. Their saddlebags were right where they’d been before and their packs, even Marco’s coin pouch, were leaning against the tree as well.

“Poison?” The elf echoed. “Why?”

“Well...you’re Horde.”

Blood Elves were loyal to the Horde and the Horde was at war with Marco and Armin’s people. Had been since...before he’d been born and at the rate they were going would be staying that way for a while. They didn’t help each other.

Hell, most of the people Marco knew would kill a member of the Horde on sight without even stopping to consider the situation and he couldn’t think of any who would have done what this elf did.

The elf made a face like he’d tasted something awful. It was almost cute and he must have been hit harder than he thought. “Illidari, not Horde. Drink.”

He said it like that explained everything and should have been enough for Marco. Which, he supposed, combined with the timely rescue it did. And it smelled normal enough, like disgusting medicinal herbs and sweat. Tasted like it too and was thick across his tongue and throat.

So the typical healing potion, right down the immediate warmth that spread throughout his body and started to dull all the pain.  

He reached out and felt the Light respond. His fingers glowed and it was a relief how easily the magic answered his call and how familiar and soothing it felt as he pushed a little into whatever wounds were left.

The elf smirked at him. “Not poison.”

“Ah. No. Thank you.” Marco mumbled, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. If his mother was here she would...well, she’d probably scream and go for her rifle but after that she’d scold him for being so impolite to someone who had helped him. “For the potion and for helping us.”  

The elf nodded then stood up and looked out into the darkness around them. Marco looked too, didn’t see anything but dark sky and waist high shadowy grass all around them. The elf put fingers to his lips and whistled, high and long, then walked towards the fire. Something rustled to Marco’s left and he twisted around, heart leaping into his throat. He reached reflexively for his weapon and shield, cursed when he came up empty, and pulled on the light instead.

The elf stood up, a pack slung over his shoulder and turned his face towards him. “Calm. Cat.”

As if on cue the grass parted and a dark figure, down on all fours, streaked out of the grass. It entered the circle of light, revealed itself as a saber cat. It was dark brown, short furred and sleek, and it’s legs and head were adorned with armor that appeared to be made of bleached bones.

It padded to the hunter who reached and patted a hand over it’s side affectionately.

The tension drained from Marco as he realized it must have been the elf’s mount; Night Elves, another Alliance Race, favored saber cats as well.

They did not, however, equip them with bone armor. Because that would have been strange and creepy.

“Stay. Safe here for the night.” The elf said. His face was turned towards the cat as he continued to pet it, drawing a deep rumbling purr from the animal.

“Wait!” Marco shouted then, face heating up again, waved a hand that...the elf couldn’t see. “I just...at least let me pay you for helping us.”

The demon hunter’s face became pinched and angry. “Did not help for payment. Those...men? Were.” The elf stopped speaking in Common, spitting something in what must have been Thalassian (he picked out ana and talah and nah) before then sighing and shaking his head. “Wanted terrible things to you and your friend.”

He furrowed his brow when he finished, tapped his fingers against his mount. “That is wrong?”

Marco wasn’t sure if he was referring to the ‘terrible things’ or his attempt at Common (which had been much better than Marco could do in any Elvish dialect or Orcish so he wasn’t about to criticize) so he just ignored the question and pressed on.

“Of course not but you still helped us. You should...at least stay here tonight?” What the hell was he saying? Inviting someone who, now that he was more aware, seemed to radiate darkness, to sleep in the same camp as him? ...but the camp that same person had set up, after bringing him and Armin here, without stealing anything as far as he could tell, and tracking down their mounts. “Instead of wandering around in the dark.”

That got him a sharp smile. “Everything is  _talah_.”

“I don’t- dark? Everything is dark?” His brain caught up, provided context, and then he frowned. Well, fine, that might have been a good point. Maybe? He wasn’t sure how ‘pouring dark magicks directly into one’s eye sockets’ worked out in the end and...the elf was laughing at him. It was quiet but it was absolutely laughter, complete with shaking shoulders and snorts, and it was actually kind of a mean laugh.

He was being messed with.

He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Then squinted at the elf, something occurring to him. “How did you know I was a paladin?”

If the elf had been able to see he would have assumed he saw the crest of his order on his horse but...he couldn’t. But he’d seemed to sneak up on those bandits and then cut off someone’s head not only without issue but quickly and cleanly without being noticed until after the deed was done.

“You glow.” For a moment there were two bright green spots beneath the blindfold, right where eyes would have been, and Marco shivered as something that felt a lot like icy fingers brushed his face. Then the light was gone and the elf shrugged. “It is... _belore_?”

“I don’t know?” He glowed? He'd never been told he glowed before. 

The elf pursed his lips, looking frustrated for a moment. “Very...beautiful light. Like other paladins but more light.”

Marco blinked then cleared his through. That was...the first time he’d ever heard something like that. Not that it meant anything, surely. Just some kind of weird way the demon hunter saw the world no doubt. Or a botched translation.

“Glow and _tahal_.  _Fallah._ Priest.” The elf pointed towards Armin then shrugged again. “Glow not as beautiful as you.”

“Ah.” Marco said intelligently, brain deciding it had no interest in helping him say something worthwhile. “He is a priest. And. Thank you? I think.”

The hunter looked confused then shook his head. “ _Falor_.” Marco had no idea what meant either but the elf was still speaking, gesturing towards the cat. “Travel from here. Wanted to...see things since the sleep? Moving through. Best travel at night, few humans.”

Marco considered that for a moment then nodded. The elf had wanted to see how things had changed since he’d been put to sleep (which answered the question of whether or not the demon hunters had really been woken up.) and was moving on now. He wanted to go now because there were less humans at night.

It was very practical and yet Marco felt reluctant to just let the hunter leave. He felt like he owed him something or...he wasn’t sure.

“You can travel with us. In the morning.” The demon hunter’s eyebrow went up and Marco flapped his hands  and hoped that whatever glow the elf saw in let him see it. “We’ll just...explain it to anyone we see. You won’t be attacked if you’re with us. We owe you that much”

At least he didn’t think anyone would, but it wasn’t like he and Armin couldn’t handle something if it happened. And, besides, they were going straight to the Westfall Mines and the only people supposed to be there were frightened miners and the owner of the mine. Not exactly a threatening bunch he imagined.  

The elf was silent for a long moment, seeming to think it over, before responding. “Traveling to where?”

Marco pushed himself up to his knees, hopeful that the question was a good sign. “Westfall Mines, to the south. There’s something, or someone, in there scaring people off so we’re taking the job to clear it out. We could...probably use help? And we can...escort you anywhere after that, keep you from being attacked or arrested!”

Another long pause; the elf was still stroking his mount, who had lowered itself onto it’s belly and was licking it’s front paws lazily. “You want my help?”

He sounded curious and, maybe, a little hopeful? Marco answered without hesitation, ignoring the part of his brain that was chanting ‘Nononono’. “Yes, sure. We can split the reward too.”

He couldn’t put a finger to why he was trying so hard, why he felt like he had to push to keep the elf from just walking off into the night. He knew it was stupid and dangerous and he had no idea what Armin was going to have to say come morning because no matter what the hunter claimed he was a Blood Elf, their enemy, and a demon hunter at that. He was someone who used the very magic demons did in order to fight them. He was pretty sure there were rules against associating with demon hunters.

But he couldn't remember them off the top of his head and he had been told to go out and ‘learn about the world outside of books and the chapel’ so...this probably fell under that.

“I will stay.” The elf said, nodding once.

Marco’s eyes widened and then he was nodding perhaps too enthusiastically. “Oh. Okay. Great. Good.”

The elf turned his face towards him again, seemed to be staring right into him (and maybe he was, how in the world would he know one way of the other.) then smiled slightly. “Yes.”

With that he turned away, clicking his tongue. The saber cat rose up and followed him. For one strangely heart twisting moment Marco thought he was going to leave anyway but he relaxed when he realized the elf was headed towards the tree their horses were tied up on. The saber cat plopped down, mouth opening in a yawn, and curled up. The elf quickly shed his weapons, lying them down before patting the cat’s head and sitting down to lean back against its body.

Marco watched for a moment then looked down at the bedroll he was sitting on. It must have belonged to the elf and now he was on the hard ground because Marco was on it.

“Umm. You can have your blankets? I have my own.”

“No need.” There was no explanation beyond that but the elf’s voice made it sound very final. Marco frowned then bit his lip before shrugging. It was the elf’s choice, it was his stuff after all, and it was a fair bit nicer than his own. Less rough and had an actual pillow instead of another rolled up scratchy blanket that was only slightly softer than a rock.

“Thank you, again-” He started then stopped, realizing he didn’t know the elf’s name. “I’m Marco, by the way, and that’s Armin.”

“Jean.”

Marco’s eyebrows jumped up. “Jean? That’s very...human.”

The elf scoffed and made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Humans think everything is human’s. Arrogant baby race.”

Marco wanted to protest but, honestly, there was perhaps a little truth to that. Humans did, from what his studies in history had taught him, have a tendency to go around claiming things for their own that other people had already had.  

For lack of anything else to do he stretched back out on the bedroll. He didn’t think he’d actually get any sleep, feeling much too awake with his thoughts jumping from worry for Armin (who looked fine, if a bit pale) to the elf, to what had happened to the bodies of those men, to what was going to happen in the morning.

But, wrapped in the pleasant scent of herbs and smoke that clung to the blankets, he found himself drifting off while staring at the elf in the fading light of the fire. One of his last clear thoughts before falling asleep was that he’d never noticed that Blood Elves really had rather nice faces.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Belore- The Sun, Like the Sun
> 
> Tahal- Opposite of Light, Death
> 
> Ana- You, You’re
> 
> Nah- Enemies
> 
> Falor- True, truth, (it is) truth
> 
> Fallah- Balance (In this context it’s that Armin appears as both light and shadow to Jean)
> 
> The Holy Light- A non-theistic force/religion that Humans and Draenei believe in/subscribe to. 
> 
> And, finally, Jean doesn’t really have eyes. Demon Hunters sacrifice traditional sight to be able to see the true forms of things, usually in a weird kaleidoscope of colors (that I decided relate to the sort of magic a person uses but that doesn't actually have basis in the lore. Yay Fanlore.) Also to enhance other senses. So Marco is probably a sort of human shaped bright golden glow to him. And is quite stunning apparently.  
> 
> http://acharyadiako.tumblr.com/post/142507155480/httpwowwikiwikiacomwikipaladin (Visual aides for Blood Elves and Draenei. Armin is sort of 'modeled' after the female Draenei because the males are huge walking refrigerators but I like to think smaller slighter males probably exist.)


End file.
